<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Twisted by Gozkin</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29672097">Twisted</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gozkin/pseuds/Gozkin'>Gozkin</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Abuse, Abusive Relationships, Blood Kink, Blood and Gore, Dacryphilia, Death, Eating Disorders, Insanity, M/M, Manipulation, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Murder, Psychological Torture, Self-Harm, Serial Killers, Stockholm syndrome kinda??, Trauma, Unhealthy Relationships, even more death lol</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-16 00:01:16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>15,333</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29672097</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gozkin/pseuds/Gozkin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>George took careful steps down the creaky, water damaged stairs of the cellar. His hand traveled along the wall, searching for a switch to lighten the room. </p><p>When the light clicked on and he pushed himself further into the room, a putrid scent of rotten wood and sour meat washed over him and destroyed his senses. Thick layers of sludge was caked into the concrete flooring, small bugs scattering about the cracks in the walls.</p><p>The generator emitted a light hum, “did I say you could come down here?” A voice spooked from the top of the stairs, having George jump about 10 feet in the air from the sudden company.</p><p>Thoughts from the previous night rushed to his mind, sending a wave of alarms to ring through his ears. He wasn’t allowed down here.</p><p>Looking around to take a full look, he realized exactly why he wasn’t allowed in the cellar.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>76</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Sickly Unexpired</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Wow. Okay.</p><p>Hey.</p><p>Time to start another fic that I probably won’t end up finishing—</p><p>This fic is based off of the song Twisted by Skylar Gray ft. Eminem and Yelawolf !!</p><p>Ive been in love with the song for so long and needed to make a fanfic about it. Things will be different obviously, but holy shit</p><p>This has been sitting in drafts for MONTHS and I’ve just now gotten the courage to start it back up again. Anyways. Here you go. I don’t have an update schedule BUT ! I do have the first 3 chapters already written out so yay.</p><p>Also kinda writing this to cope with reading a traumatic fanfic the other day and it’s probably unhealthy but idc LOL</p><p>Enjoy I guess. Refer to tags for trigger warnings guys, this is serious :D</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It all started that late Thursday night— the conversation that would drag into something so toxic, so disgustingly gruesome, that it would leave everyone included a broken mangle of glass and tears.</p><p>George sat in a discord call with his small sort of friends: Dream and Sapnap. Who he would be possibly calling different names, soon. Because they were meeting up.</p><p>They had bought plane tickets to Florida. George would be awarded the absolute pleasure of seeing the presences he had come to know so well, in person. Have the ability to touch them— feel the warmth that surfaced their skin— he didn't <em>want</em> to touch them, but the mere thought of being <em>able</em> to was intoxicating.</p><p> </p><p>Okay, possibly that was a lie.</p><p> </p><p>Yeah. It was a lie.<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>He did want to touch them. Well, not Sapnap. He wanted Dream. The boy who's face he had only been given the delight of seeing a single time. But the sight burned into the back of his head, refused to leave and charred through his brain. George was sick. He knew that.</p><p>Sick in the head, messed up, he needed help. By the time he realized just how bad it had gotten, to the point of fantasizing a life with Dream, acting as though they had a perfectly made up, passionate relationship, he deemed the thoughts too dangerous and progressed to be able to get help for. But that thought only surfaced a few forsaken moments. <em>It's not that bad</em>, He would tell himself.</p><p>You wouldn't think that George was messed up. He was the exact same, rolled his eyes and brushed off every time Dream would make a flirtatious remark or tease him. Hide the fact that his chest fluttered viciously, hide that voice in the back of his head that screamed, <em>I know</em>, whenever Dream said he loved him.</p><p>George was delicate, small and soft with a false fragility. Innocent giggles paired with dusty cheeks, deceiving smiles and lies told through pretty pink lips.</p><p>People treated him nicely with the act he put on, and he liked it. He got what he wanted, and he got it with respect. Treated so kindly, talked to so softly, as if he would break and fall apart at a single wrong word.</p><p>His forged personality fit amazingly with Dream's giving and tender nature. He didn't need physical touches to be able to feel the pure affection radiating off of Dream— all for George. Or maybe it was the infection spreading deeper into his brain, he knew that's probably all it was, but there was still a small hopeful fire that ignited at his core, getting fanned to grow bigger and bigger at every teasing phrase.</p><p>Him and Dream were perfect together. In his mind, at least. His nightly adventures started as soon as his head hit the pillow. Working and rewiring his head to put that one image of Dream in every single vision. That gorgeous photo that he was sent in the heat of a warming moment,</p><p>When George had laid in his bed with a hand slipping past the waistband of his boxers, threatening to relieve his embarrassing problem. The problem that rose from a single photo of Dream's hand. It wasn't special, a simple bent wrist that displayed the show of his fingers.</p><p>The fingers that were calloused ever so slightly, the ones that were the perfect length— the skin with defined tendons overlapped by lines of blues, they were beautiful. And one too many times, he had imagined them roaming his body in his cute little fantasy world. Gripping at his waist, stroking up and down his sides, wrapping around his throat.</p><p>But that was just his hand. The picture that really sent him flying over a treacherous edge, was the one sent shortly after. The camera was tilted lazily, showing off the mess of blond hair that mopped over his eyes, allowing a single glint of green to peak through with a dark gaze into the camera. The slightly parted lips, sharp collar bones that peeked out from under the sheet covering his bare chest. That sweet splatter of freckles that littered Dream's nose, the ones he had found himself counting and memorizing.</p><p>Dream looked out of breath. His mouth open as if he were breathing heavily, chest expanded from under the covers, his face a deep shade of red, and that half lidded eye that peeked out. The image was stunning, really.</p><p>He screenshotted it. Too good to pass up, and he hadn't thought about the notification it would send to Dream's phone that let him know that his face was now settled cozily in George's phone.</p><p>But Dream didn't seem to mind, until George took 5, 10, 20 minutes to respond. You can probably imagine the reason it took him so long. He was met back with a few worried texts, asking if Dream had crossed a line with the photo— to which George had answered a '<em>No it was absolutely perfect</em>' along with a string of <em>thank you's.</em></p><p>So that photo was stuck in his head, stuck in his dreams every single night. The dreams where he would imagine the domesticated life with the blond, the dreams where they could do anything and everything. His mind knew no limits. He knew he probably should have felt bad, using Dream in such a way, but he couldn't bring himself to care about how Dream would feel about it.</p><p>If George played his cards right, he could get Dream drooling on his knees when they met up. He was an easily likable person. The kind of person you would call after a nightmare, the kind of person you would want to stand next to at parties. He had this welcoming aura, even through a screen it was noticeable. And god did he love it— how he could wrap himself around people's fingers, have them down at his feet with starry eyes.</p><p>Because in the end, he got what he wanted. The chance at turning his suffocating fantasies into a reality.</p><p>It was all he wanted. He would drop everything, everyone for Dream. Hurt people for Dream. Kill for Dream.</p><p>And the realization of this didn't scare George, it motivated him further to get Dream in his grasp, wiggle under his skin and entrap him into a relationship. Dig into his heart and settle. Make Dream need him. Make it so that Dream was unable to breathe without him, so they could be together and everything would be perfect.</p><p>Sapnap was in the way. He didn't mind, though. Because Sapnap was his friend— and he wanted to see him, too. He was more than willing to maneuver around their friend, because surely he would understand when the two needed to go out and do their own thing.</p><p>They were staying for a month. Longer than all of them had firstly expected, but plans were made in an excited smog, and they decided that more time was so much better than less.</p><p>George wasn't too worried about his diseased brain. He wasn't worried, because it hadn't gotten that bad. Nothing was wrong with little fantasies, they were normal. And he continued to say this, say that everything was okay, say that he was fine, say that it wasn't that bad— even when he began mixing his dreams with reality.</p><p>Because he knew he was sick, but he didn't care. As soon as he had Dream, it would all go away because that would be his reality. A life with the man he had fantasized about every single night, every minute of his days.</p><p>And he decided that— even if Dream didn't want him, for some strange reason, it wouldn't matter. Because he would still love him, still pretend they had something going. Was that so wrong? Perhaps it was.</p><p>Maybe he began noticing how bad it was, when he started having murderous thoughts about Sapnap. Whenever he would flirt with Dream, it just irked him so fucking bad, he wished he could squeeze his small little neck until his windpipe crushed. Or, tie him down and pour scolding hot water down his throat until it swelled and he suffocated.</p><p>An even better plan he had thought out with far too much detail, stick a funnel in his mouth and force slicked pork intestines into his stomach until it couldn't possibly hold any more. Until his stomach expanded and pressed against his other organs, and if it didn't burst then.. pour even more down. Make him choke on the intestines, let him know what a <em>fucking pig he is.</em></p><p> </p><p>How many liters can fit in the human stomach?</p><p> </p><p>George had typed the question into Google, clicking through websites to get an idea. But then the realization had struck, what he was doing, and he closed out of the page with a frustrated huff. He didn't want to kill his friend. Sapnap would never try to take Dream, he was straight and had a loving girlfriend.</p><p>Yet he still felt as though everyone was out to steal Dream. And that made him upset, the knowing that someone could take Dream away was what made him furrow his brows and frown, almost make him cry.</p><p>George didn't cry, he hadn't found a reason to. Sometimes he would feel a warmth build up behind his eyes, feel his ears tickle, but nothing would come.</p><p>He wanted to cry, but he never seemed to be able to. Because he didn't care.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>1 week until meetup.</em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>George pressed the power on his computer, the monitor lighting up with a quiet chime. He kicked back in his chair, lazily clicking through and closing tabs from the previous night.</p><p>He was supposed to be doing a challenge with Sapnap in a bit, they'd  been planning it for a while. It wasn't anything crazy, they would just be given 10 tasks and would have to race through them to beat the game before the other. </p><p>Dream picked the challenges, so neither of them knew what they had to be looking for yet. George would be the one to stream this time.</p><p>He joined into a vc, waiting for his friends to join in so they could start.</p><p>"GEORGE!"</p><p>Two voices suddenly yelled into his headset, along with dings to signify that others had joined the call.</p><p>George flinched back and gasped at the sudden blaring, grumbling and whining when his friends began laughing. "Not funny. You scared me,"</p><p>"That was <em>kiiind</em> of the point, Georgie."</p><p>His heart swelled at the nickname. He would never admit it out loud to anyone, but he absolutely adored when Dream used little nicknames.</p><p>"Don't call me that,"</p><p>"Awee why not <em>Georgie</em>?" Sapnaps mocking voice rung through his ears. He liked when anyone called him by a cutesy name. So despite fancying Dream above everyone else, he still swooned at Sapnap's words.</p><p>"It's weird. My mom calls me Georgie." Lie. They didn't need to know that though. George's mother was no longer in the picture, different from what he had told his friends and fans. That didn’t matter.</p><p>"Whatever. Wanna hop on? If you're ready,"</p><p>"Yeah I'm already loading up the world. Dream? You got it all set up, yeah?"</p><p>"Yup." Dream popped the p gently, a sound George took a second to dwell on. He relished highly on the little things, anything from the small vocal stims to the mindless taps on Dream's desk. Barely audible, maybe, but it gave George a sense of imagines that he would be able to picture later throughout the day.</p><p>Give him the ability to gather more information and puzzle together what their life would be like together.</p><p>"You two are lucky I woke up. I stayed up <em>so</em> late trying to get this done for you," You could practically hear the eye roll in Dream's voice. Obviously he was just making jokes to annoy his friends, but a part of George panicked slightly in fear of the other actually being upset with him.</p><p>"It's like— what, 11 for you? Get a better schedule." He mumbled into the mic, knowing damn well his sleeping routine wasn't any better. He'd synced up with Dream to be able to play with him, usually deep into the night or early in the morning, and it made him feel <em>so</em> good. Being able to have a relationship already good enough to sync and stay up for each other, that was the start he needed.</p><p>Things were going perfectly.</p><p>They logged onto the world and George let his character sit idly while he set up everything to begin streaming.</p><p>"Okay you ready snapmap? Ready to get absolutely destroyed?"</p><p>"Oh whatever! I'm totally gonna win so hard, you're <em>dog water</em>. Start it up and let's go!"</p><p>George huffed out a sheesh and adjusted his face cam one last time, then began his stream.</p><p>"Hiii everyone, hi! Helloo!" He chimed with a bright smile, waving at the camera as notifications sent out and viewers poured in. He loved streaming, really. It was the best job he could have asked for, being able to play games with his best friends and openly interact with people who cared about him.</p><p>It made him feel in power. So many people looked up to him, he could do and say what he wanted, and get away with it if he messed up. But he did have to be careful about some things.</p><p>"Uhh.. today we are," George knitted his brows together, getting distracted by the Snapchat sent to his phone. He peeked down at his lock screen, then put it face down against his thigh without clicking it. It was from Dream, and he wanted so badly to open it right then, but he didn't want to risk any reaction he may provide to whatever had been sent.</p><p>"Today me and Sapnap are gonna do a little challenge that Dream set up," he drummed a finger along the keyboard, making his character crouch and punch at the screen. "We have challenges and whoever can finish them all first and beat the game, wins. Are we allowed to kill eachother?"</p><p>"Yeah! Yeah, I'm gonna punt you bitch."</p><p>George scoffed lightly and rolled his eyes. "Just start already. Are you in?"</p><p>"Oh, yeah I already started."</p><p>"What? What the— we're supposed to go at the same time!" George scrambled his hands around the keyboard, clicking to open chat and see the challenges.<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <em>1. Kill 10 sheep</em>
</p><p>
  <em>2. Trap an enderman in a boat for at least one second</em>
</p><p>
  <em>3. Kill a creeper when you're on one heart</em>
</p><p>
  <em>4. Find and mine 3 diamonds</em>
</p><p>
  <em>5. Tower and reach the height limit</em>
</p><p> </p><p>"There's only 5? I thought you were doing like, 10?"</p><p>"Got lazy. Better start going,"</p><p>So he did. He began getting wooden tools, and as he was mining some stone, a chat appeared.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Sapnap has achieved [1/5] of the challenges</em>
</p><p> </p><p>"What? How? You—" George huffed and leaned further in his chair to focus. Another buzz against his thigh. His phone.</p><p>He was itching to check, but didn't dare. He wanted to beat this, make Dream proud of him for winning.</p><p>Sapnap snickered and went quiet again. Quiet Sapnap was never a good thing, he was really trying. Something bad was stirring, and suddenly he became aware of where he was. It didn't matter much if he was killed then, all he had was a few wooden tools and some stone. It's fine.</p><p>They played for 30 minutes, George being able to get an enderman in a boat("LET'S GOOO!") and kill the 10 sheep he needed. So he was on to the next one, mine three diamonds. Maybe he could find a creeper in the cave, and then when he came back up, he'd have enough cobble to tower and complete the last challenge.</p><p>He had a full set of iron armor and tools, things were going well. Sapnap went back to taunting and teasing, making dumb jokes and whispering an <em>oh Geooorgeeee</em> to make him panic and think he was about to be attacked.</p><p>He was antsy to check his phone. He had something waiting from Dream. He never said anything about it, maybe it was just a reply to the photo of his cat that he put on his story. A heart emoji, or possibly a little animal emoji.</p><p>He was so intent on thinking about what Dream had sent him, he didn't notice when Sapnap snuck around the corner of stone and began loading a bow up.</p><p>With the sound of a light hiss from the stretching of string in his left ear, he quickly whipped around and sprinted out of the way just in time for the arrow to strike a piece of coal behind him.</p><p>He let out a shriek, static humming through his ear at the too-loud yell echoing through his room. He continued sprinting away, sadly leaving a furnace of a few pieces of smelting iron for Sapnap to take.</p><p>"What the hell?" He cried out, crouching behind a wall and munching a steak while Sapnap laughed and thanked him for the iron.</p><p>After that, it was better. George only had to tower up to the height limit, and then beat the game. Sapnap however, had 5/5 done.</p><p>George knew he was probably going to lose. Sapnap was singing about how he was about to find the stronghold, and George had to bite his tongue to keep himself from telling his friend to shut the quivering fuck up.</p><p>His fingers twitched every few minutes, trying to reach down and check his phone. He could take a break for a few seconds, tower and then pause to look at what he had been sent.</p><p>Dream had been unusually quiet the whole time, and George wondered if he was feeling unwell. He wanted to be there, be able to ask what was wrong and check his temperature, make him a bowl of hot soup and stroke his hair.</p><p>Or maybe he wasn't sick, maybe he was just scrolling through social media while his friends played a game.</p><p>He brought a few stacks of cobble to his inventory, beginning to hop and place them underneath. He was on a mountain, so already pretty high. "George?" Dream's voice spoke softly in his ear, sending a prick of heat to shoot up his spine. "Yeah?"</p><p>"Check your phone. I know you want to."</p><p>George inhaled sharply, shaking his head and placing a few last pieces. He was almost out of cobble, but he had to be getting close. "You've glanced down to your side like 20 times in the past minute,"</p><p>George paused where he was, eyes widening slightly. "You're watching me?"</p><p>A faint red tinted his cheeks as he checked the webcam to make sure he looked okay. The thought never crossed his mind that— Dream would be watching. "Is there a problem with that?"</p><p>Of course not. George wanted Dream to watch him, knowing that he was being carefully watched made him squirm in his chair.</p><p>"Well I don't know why you'd need to watch if we're already talking,"</p><p>"So I can see how far you are..?"</p><p>George rolled his eyes and continued stacking. "You're weird."</p><p>Dream scoffed out a laugh, a light punch sounding from a supposed fist against his desk.</p><p>"I am not! You should see yourself, you're so red right now! I'm not the weird one here."</p><p>Sapnap gagged, and George was thankful for the save. "You guys are both weird. I cant wait to third wheel when we meet up!"</p><p>Everyone went quiet, Sapnap mumbling a quiet <em>oh</em>.</p><p>They weren't planning on telling anyone that they were meeting up, and they definitely could have played it off as meaning in the future, but it completely blew over their heads.</p><p>"Yeah, so we're meeting up in like, a week," George smiled into the camera, lifting his arms and doing jazz hands for a second, then quickly returning to building.</p><p>"Surprise!" Dream called out in an overly cheery, yet mocking tone.</p><p>And then George hit the top. He scrolled his hotbar to a water bucket, crouching over the edge to get ready to jump.</p><p>As he was about to jump off, he remembered to check his Snapchat.</p><p>Pushing out from his chair a bit, he took hold of his phone and unlocked it with a smooth swipe. Two from Dream.</p><p>He clicked on the small red box next to his contact name, immediately being met with a photo of Patches laying snugly curled into Dream's side.</p><p>Bare, side.</p><p> </p><p>Not much was there to see, but a few spots of soft skin poker from behind the fur.</p><p>"Awww, how cute," he awed quietly at the photo, taking a few seconds before clicking to the next one.</p><p> </p><p><em>Fuck</em>.</p><p> </p><p>The camera was now centered to Dream's shoulder, his head tilted to show off his jaw, but keeping his face out of the frame. His chest was visible, and a bit of fur peeked from the bottom left corner where patches was.</p><p>He was staring. Hard. He had forgotten that he was live-streaming, where the man he was looking at, was watching his face heat up to an embarrassingly red shade.</p><p> </p><p><em>Click</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Screenshot, another photo he couldn't resist to save.</p><p>"Oh, you like that, George?"</p><p>Dream's voice was teasing, easy and light accompanied with a squeaky laugh.</p><p>"I do," George bit down on his bottom lip, the screen eventually going black at the lack of touch. The chat was spamming something about getting sent inappropriate photos from Dream, but George paid no mind to them.</p><p>The photo wasn't inappropriate, it was just Dream.</p><p><em>Just</em> Dream.</p><p>He fell off his tower with a smack to the ground, his items exploding out from his body and scattering to the grass below.</p><p>He didn't even care, really. Sapnap shouted into the mic in victory, causing the sound to cut out for a few seconds.</p><p>"No way you can get to the end before me now, fucking loser!"</p><p> </p><p>And, he didn't.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>4 days until meetup</em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>A clip of George staring at his phone with a deep blush was trending on Twitter. It had been, for a while. Along with what Dream said, the fans were going absolutely insane.</p><p>They had questions, many questions over what exactly was sent to George. There were theories being made that Dream did in fact send him an intimate photo, because paired with the brunet's dusty cheeks and Dream's words, it was the most probable answer for the fans. They were a bit ridiculous, George was sure he hadn't been that obvious. Although in the moment, he wasn't exactly thinking about what he looked like or what he said.</p><p>He scrolled through tweets and replies, sighing at the guesses to what happened. It wasn't that deep. It really, really wasn't. They always did this, always made the absolute most out of nothing.</p><p>Well, it wasn't nothing this time.</p><p> </p><p>His phone began ringing, and he nearly fell off his bed at the blaring ringtone.</p><p>"Shit that scared me!" He answered with a shaking pointer finger, receiving a confused hum from the other line.</p><p>"You excited? Only four days, bet you're <em>just</em> ecstatic!"</p><p>"You're so annoying. I'll just cancel my flight, can I do that? Can I cancel my flight?" He whined with a dramatic groan, flinging himself back into his pillow and turning on his side to talk into the phone.</p><p>"You don't want to do that, we both know you wanna see me. And maybe Sapnap. Mostly me."</p><p>That was true. So true. Everything he did was like magic, every word was a song, it almost hurt to have to wait any longer.</p><p>"Maybe I do, maybe I don't."</p><p> </p><p>"You do."</p><p> </p><p>"Do I?"</p><p> </p><p>"You <em>can't fucking wait</em>." Dream said lowly into the phone, extracting a shaky inhale from George. Fuck that's hot. Hearing Dream tell him what he's feeling, he loves it. He wanted Dream to control him, control what he does and says, everything.</p><p>This was a part of his fantasies that he cherished, the dark moments where he could imagine private moments with Dream, moments in the bedroom, hell it didn't have to be a bedroom. He would let Dream do anything, anywhere he wanted.</p><p>He found himself residing in these thoughts quite often, more frequently than he'd care to admit.</p><p>"I can't wait," he whispered, repeating Dream without the bit of cursing. He tried not to curse too much, although it was an enthusiastic way of expressing, it wasn't exactly seen as a cute thing. And that's not what he wanted. He wanted to be cute, he wanted to be treasured and treated gently. Of course he couldn't avoid the words completely, but a bit was okay.</p><p>Dream was cocky. Confident and blunt, he didn't beat around what he was trying to say. And George worshipped this, it felt nice to be bossed around from time to time. Or hearthe sighs and grumbles when Dream was put in his place.</p><p>If it wasn't obvious by now(which, yes, it is obvious,) George had a fucking unhealthy obsession. So unhealthy that it physically pained him when he was ignored for more than a few hours.</p><p>He decided that, there was absolutely no way Dream didn't like him at least a little bit. Those pictures, the way he talks to him, the flirting, it meant something. And maybe George over analyzed every single phrase and every message, but he knew. He just knew that it wasn't a possibility for Dream to not like him.</p><p>He didn't even think about what he would do if Dream wasn't head over heels by the time they met up, because it just wasn't going to happen. </p><p>So he acted as though they were both already in love. Or maybe he wasn't acting, he was mixing realities and confusing himself. All he ever did when we wasn't streaming or talking with his friends— was lay in bed with closed eyes, a pillow held tightly to his chest as he thought about all the things he could do with Dream.</p><p>He felt special, able to shift into a completely different place and imagine any scenario he wanted, going on cute dates in a cafe one day and making sweet love the next. Or, not so sweet, they could do things in any and every way with no repercussions. Try new things without feeling embarrassed, because it was all in his head.</p><p>"You know I'm excited too. Gonna be fun to see your cute little cheeks in person,"</p><p>George almost missed it. He almost missed the voice purring into his ear, he was too busy thinking. But he caught it, and writhed uncomfortably on top of the sheets.</p><p>"What?"</p><p>"You're fun to tease."</p><p>"You're ridiculous. You know that? Ridiculous."</p><p>They continued their playful banter into the night, going as far to fall asleep on the phone until George woke up and quickly hung up in fear he had been talking in his sleep.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Day of meet up</em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The rest of the week flew by in a blur. A hazed blur filled with elevated chatter about how they would spend their time once they met up.</p><p>George's plane would be boarding at 8 am, in 3 hours. He didn't sleep that night, too eager to be able to finally meet his friends. Well, eager to meet Dream. The flight was long, he would get some sleep and be ready to take all of Dream in. See his face, breathe his scent, feel his skin, see just how tall he truly is. These were all things he'd already thought about, but he was electrified to be able to see everything in person.</p><p>So he packed his things into a small suitcase, one that definitely wouldn't be able to hold as much as he needed. And this was on purpose, he could make an excuse to borrow Dream's clothes.</p><p>It was a plan he'd made months ago, a small detail that meant so much. Just thinking of drowning in the fabric of Dream's hoodies made his body flush.</p><p>There was a lot of things that he'd planned out. It almost sounded like a script, how he measured the timing and placement of certain things.</p><p> </p><p>He wondered if he should leave his toothbrush. If he brought it, he wouldn't be able to use Dream's toothbrush without risk of being seen, and there wasn't an excuse for if he would have forgotten it. But if he left it, Dream might go buy a new one or give him a spare hidden in a hall closet somewhere and the result would just be the same.</p><p>He decided to leave it.</p><p> </p><p>Gross? absolutely. Did he care? Not one bit. He wanted to use Dream's toothbrush, it would make him feel as one with the blond. That was important, surely Dream would understand.</p><p>He drove to the small airport with his bag(not without trouble, he's colorblind. Stop lights were confused with caution lights, and he probably should have been pulled over) and checked in, went through security, got a drink for the plane ride, and boarded. He just barely had enough time in between to make it on.</p><p>He settled his suitcase into an overhead bin and slid into the seat near the window, clasping his seat buckle over his lap with a click. He'd been on planes before, this was nothing new.</p><p> </p><p>10 hours.</p><p>Only 10 hours until he got to see Dream. And Sapnap.</p><p> </p><p>When the captain announced they had flown 10,000 feet, the cabin lights dimmed to a quiet warmth and George let his tray table down. He rested his head against the plastic, and immediately transported into a slumber.</p><p>He jolted awake to an abrupt rumble and screeching. He slept the whole way, and even he was surprised at how much he was able to get.</p><p>Yeah he hadn't slept the past 24 hours before that, but it wasn't an unusual occurrence. This just meant he was more rested up and ready for when Dream picked him up.</p><p>Sapnap's flight was supposed to land a few hours after George's, which Dream complained about at first, but they all knew he really didn't mind. They were all just happy to be seeing each other.</p><p>George stood and carefully pulled his luggage out, setting it on the ground and waiting for the small line to clear out from the aisle.</p><p>He was so close. Dream could be waiting right in the terminal for him. But as he stepped out, a shock of nerves grabbed at his feet and almost had him stumbling. He held tight to the railing, pausing a second to compose himself and flatten down his sweater.</p><p>Bees stung into his stomach, a sudden urge to vomit making its way up his chest. He thought he was ready, he thought he was prepared for this, but by the time it was about to happen, he lost all confidence and only wanted to hide away.</p><p>But he wanted to see Dream, he needed to see Dream. So with a deep breath, he pushed himself forward, and there he was.</p><p> </p><p>Their eyes met, and everything that told him to run away, was pulled down and locked deep into his core.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Forcive Storm</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Prepare for an awkward fucking name change LMAO</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>George's mouth curled into a dopey grin as he made way over to Dream. He sat his suitcase beside him, taking a moment to look up and admire the man he'd been waiting to meet for so long.</p><p>Dream was a lot larger than he expected. Warm arms wrapped around George's torso, lifting him off the ground and surprising a quiet squeal from the smaller.</p><p>The embrace was tight, tighter than should have been comfortable. His ribs creaked against Dream's chest, his arms flailing up around the blond's neck to keep himself from falling back.</p><p>It felt like so long. Wrapped up in Dream's arms while they laughed into each other, but maybe he was just imagining the time. It was only a few seconds, and then he was plopped back down on his feet.</p><p>George smiled up to Dream, studying perfectly Golden eyes for the first time. And that fucking gorgeous system of freckles was even better in person. He wanted to kiss every single mark, every warm hazel spot that he had memorized from frequenting back to <em>that</em> picture.</p><p>Dream lived up to what George had thought their meeting would be like. It was even better than what he wanted. He was immediately touched, not even a greeting and he was being lifted into a blanket of safe warmth. He wanted more.<br/><br/></p><p>"Hi, George."</p><p> </p><p>George blinked slowly, training his eyes to stay connected with the other pair. "Dream," he breathed out with his grin only growing.</p><p> </p><p>"Call me Clay."</p><p> </p><p>George nodded and tightly wrapped his hand around the handle of his bag. "Clay. Clay," He tested the name as if it had never once rolled from his tongue. He'd called him by his real name before, but having <em>Clay</em> tell him to, was just so different.</p><p>"Is this all you brought?" Clay lifted an eyebrow, peering down at the small black suitcase that nestled into his thigh.</p><p>"Oh.. yeah, I figured I could just get more clothes while I'm here since we'll be here a while."</p><p>George couldn't tear his eyes away. He'd stay there and just watch Clay for hours, if he was allowed. He wanted to see every facial expression for every word, see how far his eyes would crinkle when he let out those tea kettle laughs. Or see the smile he imagined Clay would have when he was making those cute little squeaky giggles, he wanted all of it.</p><p>But he was pulled out of his little trance by a small tug on the hem of his sleeve. "Hungry? We can get some lunch if you want?"</p><p>After being on a plane for 10 hours, you'd probably think George would be hungry. But he wasn't, his stomach ached from the sudden burst of nerves and the turbulence of the ride made him even more nauseous.</p><p>But he wouldn't let this slip away, he could just throw it up later anyways if he needed. It was his first time in America, and being able to experience it with Clay was an opportunity he absolutely adored.</p><p>"So hungry," he mumbled with a shy smile, pupils blowing wide when his free hand was roughly grabbed and pulled to follow Clay.</p><p>And neither of them let go, even as George's hand was engulfed, his knuckles squeezed together and throbbing at the horribly tight grip. He liked it.</p><p>They had to go on a tram to get to the parking space Clay had took— which was a bit annoying, George just wanted to be alone with Clay and talk to him, admire him, learn more about his life and America.</p><p>But when they got on, it was already crammed full of people. So they squeezed in, and Clay pulled George flush into his chest to make room for the others getting on.</p><p>A possessive arm wrapped around George's waist to keep him close as they started moving, and George could swear he completely stopped breathing at the contact.</p><p>He almost wanted to push away, this didn't seem like his Dream— of course it would be different, this was <em>Clay</em> and he wasn't behind a screen anymore.</p><p>Sure they were the same people, but he wasn't aware of how touchy his best friend would be. It was always teasing, when Clay spoke to him. It lacked the affection he desperately needed, but maybe touches were his love language instead. Clearly it was.</p><p>And George was being touched. They weren't soft touches, they were dominant and rough. He wasn't sure what he would like better— rough or soft? Soft or rough? Both, he wanted both.</p><p>His eyes goggled and frenzied around, searching Clay's unreadable face for a sign of emotion, anything to explain if this was just to keep him out of the way of others, or if it was something more. It couldn't have been a coincidence. The hand holding, then this? All in the first what? 20 minutes of hopping off the plane? It was phenomenal.</p><p>The tram sputtered to a jerky stop with a light bellow of wheels, and Clay let his arm drop back to his side as people unloaded into the building.</p><p>The walk was short after that, just up a few steps and through a thresh of glass doors that led to one of the parking garages.</p><p>Clay's car was a little black Subaru. He stuck his suitcase in the back seat, but when be slid into the passenger side and went to close the door, the handle was missing.</p><p>"When did this happen?" George pulled at the plastic surrounding where the handle should have been, but he couldn't close it. Clay shrugged and pushed the door closed for him, then got in his own seat and started the car up.</p><p> </p><p>"Haven't gotten around to fixing it,"<br/><br/></p><p>The car smelt of pine and ash. It was clean and the floor didn't seem to have a single hair or crumb, the cup holders weren't sticky, and the small monitor wasn't dusty.</p><p>"Surprised your car doesn't have like, mold growing inside," George laughed out, and Clay dramatically rolled his eyes. "I'm not dirty, George. I like things clean,"</p><p>"Hard to believe. You don't seem like you clean your room, either. Or do the dishes, when did you last do the dishes?"</p><p>"You're so dumb! I'm not an animal, I keep my house clean."</p><p>George giggled into his hand, a sound that made Clay look over at him with a sweet fondness. It was cute, something he didn't have to train himself to do. He was already gorgeous with his milky skin and soft brown hair, it only fit that he had a naturally delightful laugh.</p><p>They probably should have waited for Sapnap until they ate, their friend would definitely be mad that they went without him. But Clay thought George would be hungry after a 10 hour flight, so they went.</p><p>Clay hadn't even asked what George wanted, just insisted that they go to an iHop that was near his house. And George didn't mind, he was fine with anything as long as it was with Clay.</p><p>They slipped into opposite sides of a booth, immediately being greeted with a sweet woman who had bounded over holding a pen and a pad. "Can I get you gentlemen a drink?"</p><p>George's eyes landed at the bottom of the menu that had been set on the table. "I'll have a lemonade please,"</p><p>Clay requested a water, and the girl went off into the back somewhere.</p><p> </p><p>"You've never been to America, huh?”</p><p> </p><p>George bit the inside of his cheek and shook his head. He had wanted to come for a long time, but it was a useless trip if he wasn't meeting up with Clay. Maybe not useless, maybe it would completely ruin their relationship.</p><p>Because if George came to the states, he would be tempted to go find Clay.</p><p>And he knew where Clay lived. So he would give in almost immediately, stalk up to his house, and when Clay answered, he would have no excuse as to why he knew the address.</p><p>Small slivers of Clay's neighborhood and the paint on his house was showed in photos sent to him, so of course George stayed up for weeks, clicking through neighborhoods of towns in Florida, until he came across one that matched the light blue chipped paint and black door of the house.</p><p>The row was more secluded from the rest, only having 3 houses parted from each other instead of the usual 7 or 8. Civilization was at least 5 miles away, being a small Walmart and a few restaurants with gas stations on the way.</p><p>He knew for sure it was Clay's, because of the awkward sloped cellar door that poked out from the side of the house. It was hard to see, covered in foliage that didn't seem to match the location.</p><p>Clay had talked about his weird cellar that he found patches in when he first moved, and how the door creaked and squealed when it was opened. He wanted to get rid of it, have someone break the door and cover it up with something. That's what he said, at least.</p><p>"Came all the way to America just to see me?" Clay's cocky grin had George rolling his eyes. "Actually I just really wanted to see Sapnap,"</p><p>Clay stuck his bottom lip out and tilted his head coyly, leaning forward into the table to get closer. "We both know that's a lie Georgie."</p><p>George's heart felt like it was constricting, being squeezed and scratched and pulled at in every which way. Clay knew him so well. "Of course," he mumbled mindlessly, letting his head fall forward just a bit.</p><p>Then the waitress came back, and set the drinks down with a little rattle to the table. The two pulled back from their dangerous closeness. George wanted to fucking kill her, right then and there for ruining their perfect moment.</p><p>"Are you boys ready to order?" His mouth twitched into a scowl, eyes traveling back down to the open menu on the table. He glanced over to Clay, who nodded and listed off what he wanted.</p><p>"Chicken and waffles..?" His answer seemed like a question. Chicken and waffles didn't seem like they would go well together, not at all. But the girl nodded and scribbled down onto her pad, announcing that she would be back in a bit with their food.</p><p>Clay must have sensed his annoyance, his face contorting into a confused and questioning smile.</p><p>"Fucking bitch," he muttered under his breath, barely audible to anyone other than himself. And if Clay heard it, he didn't say anything. George peeled the wrapper from the straw and slid it into the oddly shaped, cheap plastic cup of light yellow.</p><p>When he took a sip, he nearly choked on the overly sour taste. "This is <em>not</em> lemonade,"</p><p>"It isn't? Sure looks like it."</p><p>George shook his head, pulling the straw back and taking a bigger gulp. He was used to a carbonated drink— highly fizzy and clear. Sometimes it was yellow, but he liked the clear kind.</p><p> </p><p>"This is.. it's not carbonated, it tastes weird."</p><p> </p><p>"Lemonade isn't carbonated, George." Clay looked at him as if he was stupid, and that had him feeling disheartened. Lemonade was different in the US, what else would he embarrass himself with?</p><p>He couldn't have possibly prepared himself for what happened next. Clay wrapped a hand around the cup and slowly pulled it over, taking the straw in gentle fingers and licking a stripe up the side. George's eyes were bouncing out of his head, watching as Clay took the straw in his mouth and sucked gently to let the drink through, all while containing a hard eye contact. He pushed the drink over, leaning back into the booth with a knowing beam.</p><p> </p><p>"Tastes like lemonade to me,"</p><p> </p><p>It was so casual, the way he comfied himself into the seat and spoke as if he hadn't just licked the spit clean from George's straw.</p><p>George shifted his eyes down to his drink, then back up to Clay. Did that count as kissing? It definitely counted as kissing. And that thought made George's head feel fuzzy.</p><p>Maybe it wasn't as serious as he was thinking. It was just sharing a drink, that's all it was and that was completely normal. But he couldn't help himself from capturing the scene in his mind to revisit later into the night.</p><p>They looked to be the only people in the small diner, which George was glad for. Everyone was probably at work or school— and George had the delight of being with his best friend. Who he was in love with. Sickly, in love with.</p><p>The air around them was buttered and sweet. Conversation was light, waiting for food to arrive. George never had trouble worrying about his appearance, he knew he was cute and it was never a problem.</p><p>He had people of all ages swooning over him, almost everything he did and every move he made was pre-thought of, coordinated and planned for the best response from his audience. But he wasn't behind a screen anymore, he didn't have time to plan on what he wanted to do to get Clay tripping over his heels.</p><p>He never ate in front of people, he didn't even eat much to begin with. George needed to keep himself slim and svelte. He absolutely revered the way the bones in his wrist protruded and how his ribs stuck out from the pearly skin on his chest, it made him feel elegant and lithe.</p><p>So while he spoke with Clay, a heat pooled in his stomach at the realization he would have to eat with eyes on him. He didn't feel like he was a pretty eater- it was quite messy, actually. But it would seem rude to not eat, unless maybe he offered to pay for everything, then it would be okay if he only took a few bites and saved the rest to take home.</p><p><em>Home</em>. He liked the sound of that, calling Clay's house his home.</p><p> </p><p>"I'll pay,"</p><p> </p><p>"No. I'm paying."</p><p> </p><p>That won't work, George needs to pay.</p><p> </p><p>"You're letting me stay at your home, just let me buy us lunch. Please?"</p><p>Clay's face scrunched. "Exactly, you're my guest. You aren't paying for shit." He snapped slightly, specks of saliva flinging from his teeth. George blinked back, surprised at the sudden burst.</p><p>He didn't want to argue or anything, and Clay seemed pretty passionate about paying. So he only nodded and bit down on his tongue in thought.</p><p>The food was brought by on a small tray, and George couldn't suppress the small gasp that escaped at the ludicrous proportions.</p><p>Back in the UK, he was given multiple course meals and the proportions were much smaller. He wouldn't be able to finish this.</p><p>"Is everything okay?" Clay poked, his tone much softer and concerned than before. A sudden change, but a nice one.</p><p>"I— can't eat all of this! America is so.. why is it so big? Why are these waffles so huge?" George let out an exasperated sigh, prodding at one of the way-too-big waffles with a fork.</p><p>He wasn't complaining— maybe that's what it sounded like. He didn't mean for it to sound whiny, but there was no way his stomach could hold this much. He ate one, sometimes two meals a day. Small ones, not this much. Never this much.</p><p>"That's okay, we can take the rest back for Sapnap. He'll probably be pissed at us for eating without him,"</p><p>George nodded and huffed in relief, mumbling a couple of <em>thank you</em>'s.</p><p>When they finished, George had insisted on paying once more, but Clay only shut him down and gave his card to the woman to run.</p><p>And then they were back in the car.</p><p>They were going back to Clay's house to get George settled into one of the spare bedrooms, and then Clay would go to pick Sapnap up.</p><p>George would stay there and just get himself comfy, familiarize himself with the rooms and the winding hallway that Clay claimed he would get lost in.</p><p>Maybe that should have been the first red flag. When Dream raised his voice and balled his fist up on the table.</p><p>All he did was say he was paying for their food, it wasn't a big deal.</p><p>So George didn't care. It flew right past him, Clay was just being a good friend, how could he think badly of good intentions?</p><p>Clay unlocked the door to the house, and George silently praised himself for getting it right. This was indeed Clay's house, and he did indeed find the address correctly beforehand. There was a camera, a little black camera pointed down at the porch that he noticed. He made a note that— this probably meant there was more. He needed to be mindful of what he did, what he said aloud to himself.</p><p>They walked in and Clay carried his bag up a small flight of stairs to a cute room that held a bed in the center. There was a fluffy grey comforter on the bed with a few decorative pillows, along with a smoky dresser and some framed paintings sitting atop.</p><p>The walls were a creamy white, and one held grey and blue accents that complimented the bed dressing beautifully.</p><p>He wouldn't need to be sleeping in this room for long, if he did everything he needed to correctly. He wondered what Clay's room looked like. If he had a soft mattress like George liked, or if it was hard and uncomfortable. It wouldn't matter, George would have no problem adjusting, as long as Clay was there.</p><p>"I'll let you explore, do whatever, just don't go outside. The doors lock automatically and I don't have a spare key,"</p><p>George nodded and looked around the room while Clay left to go back towards the airport. He scanned the tops of the walls, looking to see if any cameras had been placed like the previous one. Then he looked around near the floor, on the dresser, in the vents, there didn't seem to be any.</p><p>Clay wouldn't put cameras in his room, where he slept. That was weird. He didn't make a move to unpack his things yet, he wanted to get to know where he would be living first. So he poked his head out from the bedroom door and looked around. There was a room next to his, another room across from that one, and a bathroom right across from his. That seemed easy, he didn't need to go far if he had to use the bathroom in the night.</p><p>The house was nice. There was wood flooring, large, thick windows, marble counters in the bathroom and kitchen, and a huge backyard that seemed to lead on beyond his eyesight's reach.</p><p>And then he discovered the door at the end of a short hallway, hidden near the pantry. It looked like the other doors, except it was rimmed with metal and there was a keypad. He assumed it led down to the cellar, as there wasn't any other door besides the hatch outside.</p><p>He didn't understand why it was locked. He could ask Clay about it later, it's not like he needed to know every single thing in the house. So he turned back from facing the door, and nearly jumped out of his skin at the shadow standing at the end of the darkened hallway.</p><p>"Holy shit!" He exclaimed with a hand flying to his chest, hoping it would somehow calm his erratic heartbeat.</p><p>"What are you doing?" It was just Clay. And the tone scared George even further. His voice was low and inky with an ominous calmness, "Did you try to go down there?"</p><p>He must have been standing there for a while, just examining the door, if they were already back. He must have dozed off in thought.</p><p>George shook his head and stepped towards Clay, lazily punching his shoulder with a light laugh. "No, was just seeing if there was anything else in the hallway. 'S Sapnap here?"</p><p>Clay nodded and jerked his head over to the right, where their friend stood with arms extended and a toothy grin. George smiled brightly and practically ran into his arms, squeezing tightly around his waist while they greeted each other.</p><p>"Georgie! You're smaller than I thought you'd be,"</p><p>"You're barely taller than me!" George scoffed and pushed his chest to send him backwards a bit. "Do I call you Sapnap or..? Nick?"</p><p>"Don't care." He shrugged.</p><p>Much help. George decided to call him Nick, it'd probably be better to call your friends by their real names anyways.</p><p>"Dreamie said you had leftovers, you owe them for eating without me,"</p><p>Okay, so right to food. That was definitely the Sapnap he knew.</p><p>They were already by the kitchen, seeing as the locked door was just by the pantry, which was next to the kitchen.</p><p>"Okay whatever. Its waffles, you like waffles? There's so much. I don't know how they expect you to eat that much,"</p><p>"You barely even ate any at all, are you really full?" Clay looked unimpressed, his eyebrows lifted with arms folded over his chest.</p><p>"Kind of nauseous from the plane, I just wanted to spend time with you," George smiled nervously, opening the fridge and pulling a white styrofoam box from one of the shelves. The waffles were soggy by now, wet and cold from time spent in the fridge.</p><p>But Nick took no extra time plopping into a chair at the small dining table and opening the box up. There was a cup of unopened syrup that left a half-circle indent on one of the waffles, and George didn't pay much attention, but Nick had shouted that the waffle earned a battle scar.<br/><br/></p><p>"Hey— Clay? Why is that door locked?"</p><p> </p><p>"Why does it matter?"</p><p> </p><p>"Well it doesn't I just wanted—"</p><p> </p><p>"<em>Dont fucking poke where you don't belong</em>."</p><p> </p><p>George knitted his eyebrows close together. Clay had been awfully snappy, and it was starting to freak him out a bit. He seemed completely different from the persona displayed online.</p><p>He was feeling a bit intrepid, daring to push further for more of a reaction.</p><p>"Hiding something?" His tone was playful, his lips tugged into a small smile. But Clay didn't find it funny at all. His hand was suddenly gripping the collar of George's shirt, teeth barred and in his face.</p><p>"Did you not hear what I said? This is my house. You're staying in my house. And you will <em>respect what I fucking tell you</em>, so keep out of it."</p><p>Nick sat at the table with wide eyes, hands now gripping the edge of the wood with uncertainty as to whether or not he should stop what was happening. Clay was a lot bigger than the both of them, he wouldn't be able to do shit.</p><p>And George was even more terrified, leaning back to try and get away from the white-knuckled grip on his shirt. He couldn't speak, his throat strained and squeaked when he tried to push words out.</p><p>He never would have thought that Clay would be one to act on his frustration. He looked like a wild animal, eyes crazed and teeth flashing as he spoke.</p><p>George's breathing was ragged, chest heaving a little too quickly as his deranged friend began fastening a free hand around his throat. He wasn't squeezing, not yet.</p><p>"Clay stop! What the hell is wrong with you?" Nick stood up and raced to the scene in front of him, grabbing onto Clay's arm and trying to pull him off of George.</p><p>But he didn't move away, only tightened his grasp and crushed his hand together until George was gasping and tears began welling behind his eyes.</p><p>His hand was big enough to fully wrap around George's small throat, he could kill the brunet right then, just a single hand. That same hand he had thought about all those times, he was beginning to think that- he liked it. He liked being strangled, feeling the warm blood pump and pulse through his throat as the air refused to flow down.</p><p>Feeling the rough fingers pushing into the sides and middle of his neck, the thrill of knowing he could die in the hands of Clay.</p><p>He could <em>die</em>. And he felt that something was wrong with him, for loving it as much as he did. It hurt, it stung and burned, adrenaline pumped furiously through his veins, sending blurs into his vision and making his head go grey.</p><p>"Th-that—" George tried choking out, thumbs pressing into the middle of his throat making it nearly impossible.</p><p>"You're hurting him! What the fuck, what the fuck. Clay what the fuck!" Nick was scrambling his pockets for his phone, afraid to touch Clay to try and get him to stop.</p><p>Maybe it was just the shaky hands, but he couldn't seem to find his phone. It wasn't in his pockets.</p><p>Clay stopped at the words anyways, eyes softening in realization that he was really hurting George. He pushed the smaller against the kitchen island, caging him in and lifting a hand to brush against his hair.</p><p>George was horrified. Trembling and pushing a hand against Clay's chest in a weak attempt to get him away. Horrified that Clay had actually just done that, and horrified that he liked it.</p><p>Nick had tears sprung in the corners of his eyes, fearful of the man who he thought was their friend. Friends don't do that, they don't wrap hands around your throat until you're unable to breathe. He was even more alarmed at the fact he was unable to do anything to try and help.</p><p>"Clay—" George breathed out, other hand pressing against his throat as he took in large gulps of air to relieve his burning lungs.</p><p>"You," he started, eyes shooting to the floor to avoid the hard gaze. "You hurt m-me," he whispered, almost questioningly. He wanted to believe that this was a dream. That this wasn't real, it was fake and the love of his life hadn't just choked the air out of him for seemingly no reason.</p><p>He had to have a reason, it's okay. It's okay. Clay had a reason for what he did, and George was okay with that. He was still with Clay, and everything was fine.</p><p>"Go to your room. Now." The soft hand on George's hair yanked away, and Clay turned to Nick. George nodded feverishly, scrambling to put himself back together and take himself up the stairs to his room. He didn't look back to see what Clay was doing with Nick.</p><p>He could hear muffled talking from his room, from down the stairs where the other two were. His head peered out from his bedroom door, trying to listen in on what they were saying. His knees twitched, bucking every few moments and almost sending him falling out into the hallway.</p><p>The voices grew closer, and he quickly jumped back to sit down on his bed.</p><p>Nick's voice was small and shaky, afraid. He was afraid of Clay. He saw their shadows from underneath the door, supposedly going over to the other spare room next to his.</p><p>George didn't know what to do. He couldn't leave, the thought of leaving didn't even cross his mind.</p><p>He sat in his room staring into the small mirror positioned against the wall, waiting until the voices went quiet and the house was filled with a near silent, almost unnerving buzz.</p><p>And he continued to sit there. Wait until Nick came and knocked on his door to ask if he was okay. Was he okay? George had asked himself this a few times in the 4 hours he sat there. It was beginning to go dark outside, his eyes were puffy and his cheeks were sore from crying. He didn't think it was that noticeable, but Nick rushed him into an embrace when he saw the small purple marks forming around his throat and the tear streaks that stained down his face.</p><p>"I think we need to leave," Nick whispered into George's ear, letting go from the hug with his brows tilted in a worried stance.</p><p>George's head bobbed back a bit, face tweaking into confusion as he shook his head. "No, no it's okay. He's had a stressful day,"</p><p>"<em>George he choked you</em>."</p><p>Their words were hushed to just barely above a whisper, occasionally glancing around to see if Clay had been around them.</p><p>"It didn't hurt,"</p><p>Nick huffed, his arms dropping to his sides. "Clay is downstairs. Making pasta or something, are you hungry?"</p><p>George shook his head. Of course he wasn't, how could he be? It could have been the sourness clinging to the walls of his stomach, or the eating disorder, he wasn't quite sure. It wouldn't have mattered either way. He wasn't sure if he'd be able to eat what Clay was making, he worried that he would get yelled at if he didn't, though. He felt like a child, in trouble for not finishing vegetables.</p><p>Nick opened his mouth to say something else, but Clay appeared near the doorway before he had the chance. "Supper is ready, come downstairs."</p><p>His voice was monotone, lacking the emotion that the two others deserved.</p><p>They all went down the steps, two more hesitant than the other.</p><p>They sat down at the table and Clay pulled a scoop of pasta onto three ceramic plates and set them down in front of the two boys, and for himself.</p><p>They ate in silence.</p><p>It was clear George had been crying, why didn't Clay care? It upset George. He was acting as if George wasn't even there, not making an attempt to acknowledge him as he poked the fork around and tried to muster up enough courage to take a bite.</p><p>Nick kept a close watch over Clay while he brought a shaky hand to his mouth to eat from the fork.</p><p>Clay looked up, not to George, but to Nick. And he smiled. It was sweet, caring and kind.</p><p>And George completely melted, falling in love all over again at that gorgeous grin.</p><p>This isn't like what George had imagined when he first began making a life up with Clay, he didn't know that... He would be insane. Is that harsh? To call him insane?</p><p>Maybe it was a bit hypocritical, calling Clay insane when George wasn't much better. After all, he had made up an entire relationship and visited their fantasy world every free moment he had.</p><p>But the life he had wished up was only going to turn out to be nothing more than a horrifyingly deceiving daydream,</p><p>Maybe it could still work. George wouldn't give up, not now, not ever.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hey again ✌️</p><p>I didn’t know what to do but my friend said to just. Call them Clay and Nick so . Pretend it wasn’t an awkward transition :D</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. I Know</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Get ready for a ride :D</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>George went to sleep after they ate. They all did.</p><p>Well, he assumed that Clay didn't. There was some noises coming from downstairs, and it kept him awake for the majority of the night.</p><p>Rattling against the wall, pounding on the floor, muffled talking. It continued on until the small clock beamed 5:24 am.</p><p>When he heard the stairs squeak from weight shift, he closed his eyes and waited until he heard the door across from his shut.</p><p>With the knowing(or, hope,) that everyone had been tucked away in their rooms, a slumber came over and pulled him in.</p><p>It wasn't until he felt a light push on his shoulder, he jolted awake with widened eyes.</p><p>"Hey, hey it's okay, just me." Clay smiled down to him with a keen warmness, and George couldn't decide if he wanted to pack and run as far as he could, or reach a hand up and brush the blond hair from his face.</p><p>He did neither.</p><p>"You know I didn't mean what I did yesterday, don't you?" The door to his room was shut.</p><p>"It just happened, I didn't mean to. It'll never happen again," Clay brought a tender hand to rub against George's cheek, and George let himself lean into the touch.</p><p>Looking up into Clay's gentle eyes, he realized that this was the boy he loved. This was the boy he had fallen in love with, and there was nothing wrong with him. People do the wrong thing sometimes, and that's okay.</p><p>"I know," he whispered, closing his eyes as a thumb stroked against his jaw. He was still tired from the restless night,</p><p>"How about we go downstairs and get some breakfast?"</p><p>George was actually feeling a bit hungry. He had excused himself early from dinner last night, not making a move to eat much of the pasta Clay made.</p><p>"Okay, yeah," he nodded, sitting up and rolling his shoulders with a yawn. Clay grinned and helped him out bed, placing a hand on the small of his back to lead him down the stairs.</p><p>Nick was already sitting at the dining table, eyes red and looking like he was barely holding himself together. George sat down, and Clay turned his back to finish the breakfast he’d already began.</p><p>"You okay?" George whispered, to which he received an eye movement that shot towards the front door. He looked over, noticing the newly placed keypad hanging from the lock.</p><p>Nick's leg was bouncing against the chair, nervously picking at his cuticles as he awaited food. "George," he whispered.</p><p>"Yeah?" George seemed exceptionally calm for what was happening.</p><p>"We.. we need to—" a plate was dropped onto the table with a clatter, making the two boys flinch.</p><p>"Eat up, you'll need the extra energy," Clay said with a grin, digging his fork into the pile of hash browns on his plate. It was directed more to Nick, who nodded and slowly bit some toast.</p><p>Neither George or Nick knew what that meant, but they didn't dare ask.</p><p>George hadn't noticed the amount of dirt and grime that sat nestled into the cracks of Clay's hands. The ones that cupped his cheek only a few minutes ago, the ones he leaned into.</p><p>He wriggled in his seat, an acid tanging in his mouth as he brought a hand to wipe his face. Did the dirt get on him? It was disgusting.</p><p>Clay picked up his toast and took a bite, not seeming to care about the dark filth that stuck underneath his nails, or the dried mud that coated his palms.</p><p>"Where were you?" George asked quietly, his stomach letting out a gnarly rumble at hunger.</p><p>"Why does it concern you?"</p><p>George gulped, looking down at his food. He left it alone, not wanting a replay of what happened yesterday.</p><p>"Your hands are dirty," he said, and Nick very visibly winced in anticipation for what would happen.</p><p>"Would you like me to wash them for you, princess?" Clay spat across to George, his body snapping forward in an intimidating lean over the table.</p><p>Clay had a problem controlling his anger, that much was incredibly clear.</p><p>George didn't want dirty hands touching him. "I'm sorry."</p><p>Nick glanced away. He wanted to leave, George knew that. Clay must have known as well.</p><p>George didn't want to be eating food that was touched with such dirty hands, so he didn't. He sat and waited until the others finished. Nick didn't say a word, his usually cheery and joking nature was far gone.</p><p>"Eat your fucking food." Clay demanded harshly, "You've barely eaten the whole time you've been here."</p><p>George bit at his bottom lip, chewing and gnawing at the skin until he convinced himself to take a bite. "Still a bit jet lagged, sorry,"</p><p>And that was that.<br/><br/></p><p> </p><p>Nick was off somewhere in his room, and George was sitting with Clay in his recording studio. They had planned to stream together, let their fans know that they were finally together.</p><p>They kept the camera off for obvious reasons.</p><p>"Hey guys!" George beamed, his smile showing through words. The chat went crazy.</p><p>Because Clay was the one streaming, and George was talking. The room echoed, unlike how it sounded in calls.</p><p>"Hi," Clay said with a light chuckle.</p><p>Clay had been more touchy and less snappy since breakfast. This is the part that George loved so dearly, the arm settled around his shoulders and the fond smile that sent fireworks shooting through his system.</p><p>They sat idly on the Minecraft screen, addressing that they were all together and how long they'd be staying.</p><p>It was fun, sitting with Clay and just talking, no brass words or rough touches. And when the stream ended, they were a bit closer than when they had started.</p><p>Any negative thoughts of what had happened beforehand, were deserted as soon as a(now clean) hand brushed up against his arm.</p><p>They both sat with chairs squeezed together, and George looked around in realization that Clay had previously mentioned his computer room was soundproof. The door was shut, locked with a large metal clasp. But he didn't mind. He almost liked it more, there was a camera positioned at the top corner of one of the walls.</p><p>Standing up from his seat, he pushed Clay's chair out and began to climb up into his lap.</p><p>This was his chance. It was perfect. Perfect opportunity to see if Clay felt it too, he was so sure the feelings were mutual. If they weren't, that would be okay. He could still stay here. It would be okay.</p><p> </p><p>"What are you doing?"</p><p> </p><p>"Tell me if you want me to stop."</p><p> </p><p>Clay didn't protest.</p><p> </p><p>When their mouths crashed down together, George's lips were immediately being bitten into, tugged and pulled until a foreign metallica began filling his mouth.</p><p>It was bitter and had George squeezing his eyes together a bit tighter to try and get rid of the unsavory feeling.</p><p>It hurt, and George liked it despite the messy splotch of blood that remained on the corner of Clay's mouth after pulling away.</p><p>His purple lips had been bitten raw, and he cursed himself for enjoying being played with and controlled. Clay could do anything he wanted right now, and George wouldn't try to stop him.</p><p>They looped back in for another kiss, more gentle to give each other time to breathe deeper. Years of yearning were put into the loving kisses, no speaking necessary as they continued their much-wanted session.</p><p>That confirmed it, Clay did feel the same. Or at least, he didn't mind. And that's all that George needed. Being able to feel lips against his, Clay's lips, it was so much different than his dreams. It was real, he could feel it, he didn't need to imagine anymore.</p><p>It was risky, so very risky. But he had to take it. He already decided before he came to America that, there was just absolutely no way Clay couldn't love him.</p><p>Love? Was that too far? They had barely just kissed. Of course it was love, it had to be.</p><p>"You know I'd never hurt you, right?" Clay whispered, pulling George's head to rest against his shoulder while he circled a hand around his waist.</p><p>"I know."</p><p>George wasn't thinking about it, he wasn't thinking about just yesterday when he had a hand wrapped around his throat. He hummed happily, nuzzling his nose into the crook of Clay's neck. It was warm in the room, comfortable and made the two of them almost fall asleep in the chair.</p><p>He licked across the flesh of his bloodied lip, feeling it start to crust over from underneath his tongue. It felt gross. But he couldn't pull himself to heed the tart taste, because Clay was the one that caused the little sore marks, and that was something he thought the absolute world of.</p><p>"I've wanted that for so long," George whispered into Clay's neck, pressing a small kiss into the skin.</p><p>"Me too. You're so pretty."</p><p>Clay never failed to make George feel like the most special person in the universe. Even if it wasn't intended, every word sunk to his core and plunged directly into his heart. He smiled meekly, wrapping an arm around Clay's torso and pulling himself impossibly closer.</p><p>And they stayed like that, kissing and praising each other until George fell asleep in Clay's lap.</p><p>When he woke up again, he was a bit surprised to be back in his bed. He didn't realize he had fallen asleep. He felt around for his phone, eventually giving up when it wasn't to be found.</p><p>His nap was much needed, staying up and listening to Clay in the night wasn't exactly the best usage of his time, and it had brought alarming bruises to pose below his eyes.</p><p>The rest of the day went by easy. The three of them played some more Minecraft(Nick had brought his set up), and George was sent to bed early so Clay could talk to Nick.</p><p>He didn't miss the pleading eyes Nick sent to him as he trudged up the stairs.</p><p>The muffled talking ceased as he once again fell to sleep.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>"George,"</p><p> </p><p>"<em>George</em>!"</p><p> </p><p>A tug at his collar and a whisper shout awoke him. His eyes opened painfully slow, and he wasn't sure if he was hallucinating or if Nick was really standing there with his bag packed.</p><p> </p><p>"What are you—"</p><p>"We have to leave, George. Please come with me, I can't leave you," he whispered, pulling at George's sleeve to try and get him up.</p><p>"What? Nick go back to sleep," He let his head fall back into the pillow, closing his eyes even as Nick whimpered in thought. He didn't want to leave George alone with Clay.</p><p>While George was up safe in his room, Clay had pulled a knife from a cabinet and held the tip of the blade against Nick's throat in the heat of his agression. It was a simple argument. Argument? You probably couldn't even call it an argument, but all Nick knew was that this man was <em>not</em> their friend, he was crazy. And he needed to get the both of them out of there.</p><p>"He tried to—" A door creaked open from across the hallway, and Nick could no longer continue begging.</p><p>"Fuck. Fuck— George! Please, please George just—" he didn't have any time left. He'd been heard, and Clay was on his way to put them both back to sleep.</p><p>"I'm so sorry, I have to leave," Nick whispered(to George, who was basically a brick wall), squeezing his hand before slipping out of the room.</p><p>George knew he was definitely hallucinating. Why would Nick want to leave? It didn't make sense, certainly he had woken from a nightmare or— just never woke up at all.</p><p>But as the night went on, he continued to wake every few minutes when a new noise would echo through the walls. A muffled groan, the slam of a door, the sound of a car starting from right outside his window.</p><p>And as he let the sounds drone through the room, he began noticing that he was lucid. Awake and aware, not dreaming and not making this up.</p><p> </p><p>His mouth felt dry.</p><p> </p><p>Slowly shoving the sticky sheets from his body, he stumbled out of bed and wandered around until he made it to the kitchen. Just a drink, George just needed a drink.</p><p>He stood on his toes, reaching up and grabbing at one of the glasses from a cupboard. He hadn't turned the light on, it was too much work for his hazy brain to figure out.</p><p>The only light source was the small blue glow from the ice and water option on the fridge. He knocked something over on the counter, not bothering to feel around and pick up whatever had rolled across the surface.</p><p>George turned the faucet on and filled the cup, taking small sips until it was finished. He absentmindedly rested his head down on the counter, nearly falling back asleep until a rumble rattled from below and vibrated the marble against his cheek.</p><p>He picked his head up at that, looking around in the darkness for what could have caused the bump. He was fairly confident that it was Patches. He hadn't seen the cat since his arrival, so he assumed she mostly came out at night to avoid the strangers.</p><p>Still, he couldn't contain the curiosity that coursed through him.</p><p>The sound had come from below, and the only room below the main floor was the cellar. But the cellar was locked, he couldn't go down and investigate the noise.</p><p>He switched on the light, ambled around the corner, and began to go down the small hallway that led to the Cellar door.</p><p>His eyes widened in pleasant surprise; the small light on the keypad was green and the clasp was unlocked. He could open the door, go down and explore. But then the front door clicked open, and in walked Clay with a pair of big gloves and a hefty coat.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> The unworldly timing of the situating made George jump.</span></p><p>"Fuck. George? What are you doing up?" He was breathing heavily, a gleam of sweat sticking the hair to his face. And if George looked closer, he would have seen that the crust of dark brown sticking to Clay's chin was in fact, not dirt.</p><p>George snapped his head around, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. "What are you doing up? Why were you... it's so late," he mumbled, taking note of the nervous glimpses Clay shot towards the door he was standing in front of.</p><p> </p><p>"Why are you over here?"</p><p> </p><p>"Oh, sorry I just.. I heard something,"</p><p> </p><p>Clay's tone was cold, his gaze icy. "You can't go down to the cellar. Hear me?"</p><p>"Of course. Sorry" he mumbled, turning back and forfeiting his curiosity.</p><p>"Where'd you go?" George repeated himself, hoping to get an actual answer.</p><p>"Just had to go drop something off for a friend, let's get you back to bed, yeah?"</p><p>"Yeah," George nodded with a tired smile, letting Clay place a hand on his back and rush him back up the stairs. "Are you going back to sleep?"</p><p>"Not yet, need to feed Patches."</p><p>George frowned. He wanted to ask— if he could stay in Clay's room. Tell him it was just for the night, tell him he had a nightmare and was scared to sleep alone. Then it would hopefully turn to sleeping together every night. But if Clay wasn't coming to sleep right away, it wouldn't make sense.</p><p>"Do you wanna sleep in my room?" Clay asked with a smile, rubbing up and down George's back.</p><p>He nodded and leaned into Clay's side. This was perfect, just what he wanted being handed right to him.</p><p>Clay's room was much bigger than the guest rooms. His bed was unmade and the blankets were tossed to the end of the bed, but he shook him off when Clay rubbed a hand over his face in embarrassment and offered to make the bed. It was endearing.</p><p>He slipped under the covers, pulling the comforter up over his nose and breathing in deeply. "I'll be back, okay? Try and go back to sleep."</p><p>George nodded, and closed his eyes. The bedroom door shut, and a few minutes later, he could swear he heard a swaddled cry shrill from downstairs, right before a door slammed and the air returned to quiet. Patches, Clay said he was feeding Patches. That's all it was.</p><p>Though in the back of his mind, something told him he knew exactly what was happening. He brushed the idea off. Merely thinking of the possibility had to be the most disrespectful thing he could ever muster.</p><p>Clay snuggled into the bed later in the night, pressing a chaste kiss to George's forehead and whispering something inaudible. It took 3 hours to feed Patches.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>"Hey, where's Nick?" George asked over his shoulder while he cracked an egg over a bowl. He hadn't seen their friend since last night, and was beginning to wonder if he really did leave.</p><p>"He didn't tell you? He decided to take a flight back home last night. Just us now, Georgie." Clay grinned up to George from where he sat at the table.</p><p>So he did leave. He really left. Did he? George wasn't sure if... if he left on his own will. Or if he never really left at all, if he— if he was still here, down in the—</p><p>"Oh." He turned back to the counter and finished cracking another pair of eggs. He whisked them until they were fluffy.</p><p>The suspicion made his blood turn cold. There was no doubt he had thought of killing Nick himself, he frequented to it quite often. But- but Nick didn't do anything wrong, he didn't interfere, he didn't do anything. He didn't have a reason to go back to that thought.</p><p>George wasn't sure what was going on between him and Clay. They hadn't talked about the kiss, or the possessive hand that roamed up and down his thigh when they laid in bed this morning. He itched to find out, ask what was on the blond's mind, but chickened out every time the words threatened to come up.</p><p>They sat at the dining table eating specially fluffy pancakes. It was quiet, the only noise being the soft coo of a mourning dove that had made its nest underneath one of the broken shingles of the roof.</p><p>So they eat in the quiet. It's comfortable, enjoyable and welcoming.</p><p>"Clay?"</p><p>Clay hummed to let George know he was listening, "why'd he leave?"</p><p>He shrugged. "Not what he expected, maybe a little homesick, I guess."</p><p>George nodded slowly, taking a bite of his food. He was getting close to finishing the full two pancakes he'd made for himself, he was utterly surprised that he was able to eat this much.</p><p>"M going to the store, don't get yourself locked out, kay? I'll be back in a bit." Clay stood and kissed the top of George's head, leaving him to awe over the gesture.</p><p>The front door shut, and George was left alone with his thoughts. He wanted to go in the cellar, it hadn't been lost from his mind since last night. He didn't know what Clay was doing, he didn't know what he had done last night or— or why Nick looked so horrified.</p><p>He had to have known that Clay didn't mean to hurt him. He was just upset, people do irrational things when they're upset and he wouldn't do it again. That couldn't have been what made Nick leave.</p><p>Nick was... not the type of person to just abandon his best friends of 6 years over feeling a little homesick. They had wanted to meet up for a while, it just didn't make sense.</p><p>It wasn't the same, Nick looked scared the whole time they were there. And that wasn't a long time, they'd barely just gotten there. That wasn't good, either. That they had barely been there and Clay already lost control. But it was fine.</p><p>He sat at the table pushing around the last bite of his pancake in syrup. It was time to get up. Try to go down in the cellar. He wondered if the door was still unlocked, or if he had locked it after seeing George standing with his hand outstretched for the handle.</p><p>He wasn't allowed. Was this overstepping? He didn't want to lose Clay's trust and he had already been told he wasn't to go in the cellar.</p><p>He tried to convince himself that he didn't need to go down there— it was just Patches. The poor cat was probably terrified of the guests in her home, so she's hiding down under the stairs or something. He didn't want to scare the poor baby more than she already was.</p><p>But that wasn't enough. He needed to see for himself what was so secretive. He was hoping it would be some kind of weird collection of sorts, or maybe he had some explicit art that he didn't want George to see. He hoped that— it was nothing serious. Perhaps he did secret drug deals and had boxes full of pento and midazolam.</p><p>Did he think George would care? Because he didn't. If Clay was some drug lord— he didn't care. Was that it? There was so many possibilities, and that's why George needed to know.</p><p>So he slowly walked down the hallway, peering to the front door to make sure Clay wasn't coming back, and then reached for the handle of the cellar door. It didn't open. The little light on the keypad was red, and the door was shut tight.</p><p>Clay had told him passcodes before to his Minecraft and social media accounts, maybe it was one of them. It was a number sequence. He tried a few numbers that had been put after passwords previously,</p><p> </p><p>9276</p><p>
  <em>Wrong</em>
</p><p> </p><p>2230</p><p>
  <em>Wrong</em>
</p><p> </p><p>000</p><p>00</p><p>0000</p><p>00000</p><p>
  <em>Wrong</em>
</p><p> </p><p>He groaned as the keypad made a little dingy noise to signify he only had a few tries left before it would start sounding an alarm.</p><p>It was stupid, but he thought that— maybe he was important enough to...</p><p> </p><p>404</p><p>
  <em>Correct</em>
</p><p> </p><p>The door made a click, and opened when he twisted the handle.</p><p>George took careful steps down the creaky, water damaged stairs of the cellar. His hand traveled along the wall, searching for a switch to lighten the room.</p><p>When the light clicked on and he pushed himself further into the room, a putrid scent of rotten wood and sour meat washed over him and destroyed his senses. Thick layers of sludge was caked into the concrete flooring, small bugs scattering about the cracks in the walls.</p><p>It was cold down here, much cooler than it was upstairs. He was almost shivering.</p><p>The generator emitted a light hum, "did I say you could come down here?" A voice spooked from the top of the stairs, having George jump about 10 feet in the air from the sudden company.</p><p>Thoughts from the previous night rushed to his mind, sending a wave of alarms to ring through his ears. He wasn't allowed down here.</p><p>Looking around to take a full look, he realized exactly why he wasn't allowed in the cellar.</p><p>A dark slick of red was washed against the flooring, the edges beginning to dry brown. The walls were holding up shelves of weapons, shotguns and switch blades, hunting knives and a larger variety of small handguns.</p><p>George felt a brine start to crawl up from his throat, a nausea spreading across his belly as he looked at the concrete dirtied with blood.<br/><br/></p><p>He didn't have to ask, he already knew.</p><p>Nick never packed up and went home.</p><p> </p><p>He bent down and retched onto the floor, holding onto his stomach and coughing out the contents of his freshly eaten meal.</p><p>"Where is he?" He rasped out, not having the nerve to look back.</p><p> </p><p>"Neighbor owns a pig farm a few miles away,"</p><p>George clasped a hand over his mouth, purging through his fingers onto the ground once again.</p><p>He thought that— it would be better to have Nick dead. He could have Clay to himself without any interference. But now that he was actually gone, it brought a disturbed venom to pool in his stomach.</p><p>He needed to leave, get out of there and run and never look back because <em>what the fuck</em>. One of his best friends was dead, and he was standing over the mess of his blood.</p><p>He slowly turned, eyes darting up the stairs to Clay. There was no way he could escape, not with him standing right there.</p><p>A part of him didn't want to leave. He wanted to stay and help Clay, help him realize his mistake and change, because he still loved him.</p><p>He couldn't move.</p><p>His feet were stuck to the disgusting, filthy concrete floor.</p><p>He didn't think there was possibly anything left in his stomach, but when a large steel bear trap caught his eye from the very corner of the room, he was back to puking. A mutilated hand laid in the metal, fingers snapped and pale purple in the jagged teeth of the trap.</p><p>"Sorry, I couldn't clean everything up, you weren't supposed to come down here." Clay was behind George, rubbing slow hands in his back and brushing the sticky hair out of his face. Thick vomit plastered over George's lips, and he almost heaved over Clay's hands as he wiped the chunks away.</p><p>"Stop," he cried out quietly, making a feeble attempt at pushing away from Clay's arms. He felt faint, his head fuzzy and vision blurred.</p><p>All he wanted was to believe this was some kind of sick joke. It was October, April fools day was nowhere near. "I'm sorry." Clay mumbled, pressing a kiss to the nape of George's neck. "Do you hate me?"</p><p>George didn't know what to say. Of course he didn't hate him, he could never hate Clay. He was in shock. His skin felt cold, itchy. He needed to itch his hands. But he couldn't, he couldn't move and he couldn't get away from Clay's warm arms that held him in place.</p><p>A sniffle in his ear hurt his heart. "I didn't mean to, George. I didn't mean to. Nobody's perfect," he whispered, a few tears falling down onto George's shoulder.</p><p>Nobody's perfect, that's right. But killing someone? Was that supposed to make him not question what Clay had done? He didn't know what to do. Maybe he really didn't mean to, he didn't know the story. He could just go with that.</p><p>Clay didn't mean to kill Nick.</p><p>He stayed silent, staring forward at one of the blades on the wall. It was pretty, a light blue with swirls of navy on the handle.</p><p>"You know I love you, I love you George. I did it because I love you."</p><p>"Be quiet. I need quiet." George whispered, tilting his head away and jerking his shoulder to push Clay off of him.</p><p>"Do you not love me?" Clay asked quietly, ignoring what George had said and dropping his head into his hands.</p><p>"I—" George took a shaky breath. He couldn't believe what was happening. He didn't believe. He closed his eyes, trying to isolate the horrid stench of sour and to just, wake himself up from this nightmare.</p><p>"I love you," George whispered, not feeling he had much of a choice on what he said. He was standing in his friends blood, in a cellar with no neighbors near enough to hear if he screamed for help. He didn't want to die.</p><p>"I love you." He said again, breaking off into a sob as Clay picked him up and cradled him in his arms.</p><p>"Let go of me, please— l-let go of me," he cried softly, but didn't make an effort to separate himself from Clay.</p><p>"Let's go take a shower and clean you up, okay?" George didn't object, he wouldn't be able to anyways. He didn't want Clay to let go, he wanted to stay in his arms and pretend that none of this happened. Pretend that Nick had gone back home and he never went down those stairs.</p><p>Clay was supposed to be at the store. Why wasn't he at the store? How did he know?</p><p><br/>There must have been cameras.</p><p> </p><p>He was set down on the sink and Clay ran the shower to a warm temperature. George wasn't sure if he'd be able to stand. But Clay must have seen this, as he carefully helped him undress and set him on the bottom of the shower. It was a bit cold. Or maybe that was just the sweat that stayed clung underneath his arms and up his back.</p><p>Clay undressed himself and threw his clothes into a heap on the floor. He sat at the bottom with George, squirting a bit of wash onto his palm and rubbing a deft hand through George's hair.</p><p>And George had thought about their first time in an intimate situation for so long, but this felt anything except intimate. He couldn’t seem to care that he was naked, he didn’t care that <em>Clay </em>was naked.</p><p>"I'm so sorry sweetheart," Clay said from under the running water, and George wanted to slam his skull against the shower tile for finding comfort in the little nickname.</p><p>"It's okay." He said dryly, letting Clay continue to wash up and down his back.</p><p> </p><p>"You can't tell anyone,"</p><p> </p><p>"I won't."</p><p> </p><p>"You can't leave."</p><p> </p><p>"I know."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Ok so. We speedrunning this , get it I guess !?</p><p>Only gonna get worse from here</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>